Devil's Child
by Chasing Clouds
Summary: My personal theory on Erik's past. Loosely based, in later chapters, on the ALW sequence of events. Very little ECR triangle. Chapter three up, on hiatus. May not ever be finished.
1. Prologue

_Note-I changed names here. Sorry for the delay in posting the next chapter. I was seperated from my computer for a while. I'll be posting soon._

"Lianne?"

A young woman, cradling a newborn child on her hip, brushed curly brown hair out of her eyes and peered down a dim hallway. Cautiously she stepped forward, then stopped and called again. "Lianne!"

A six-year old girl shuffled into view, her green eyes puzzled. "Verity? What?"

"You need to leave. Someone needs to protect him, and I can't." The older girl indicated the infant in her arms. "They'll kill him otherwise."

"I won't take him. He deserves it. He's a devil. I won't protect him."

"He's not a devil."

"Then why's he got red eyes? Why won't he look at a lamp? Those're the signs of a devil." Lianne stepped back.

"Watch." Verity shifted the child to her other hip, then fumbled in the neck of her dress. A moment later she produced a cross, hanging from her neck on a fine gold chain. She bent over slightly, pressing the cross to the infant's skin. He continued to sleep, oblivious to her attentions. "If he was a devil, it'd have hurt him. I don't know why his eyes are like that, or why he won't look at a light, but he isn't a devil. These people think they're doing right, but I know they aren't." She looked down at the little girl. "They'll kill him, Lianne. Do you understand?"

Lianne nodded solemnly, thought for a moment, then asked, "If you're so sure he's no devil, why don't you tell them?"

"I tried," was the grim response. "They didn't let me say five words, just said he was a devil and that's the end of that. Here, take him." She stuffed the sleeping child into Lianne's arms.

"He have a name?"

"By rights it's Erik, after his father. Call him Erik. He'll never have a Christian name." She paused, then knelt to be on a level with Lianne. "Hide him. Keep him warm. Make sure nobody sees you with him. I'll come when I can."

Lianne looked at her for a moment, eyes round. She nodded silently, then scurried away, the tiny bundle tucked under one arm. Verity stared after them for an instant, then sighed and slipped away to explain why the newborn had vanished without a trace.  



	2. Chapter the First

**The Wombat is back, with another chapter. And lots of notes.**

**O Most Sacred Reviewers: **

**I'm terribly sorry for making you wait for 3 months. You see, vacation ends, and homework descends upon all, especially Wombats with super-complicated schedules. (Yup, that's my excuse. Homework. Care to hear my I-forgot-my-homework excuse? It involves hungry dogs.)**

**Anybody who hasn't read the prologue very recently will be hopelessly confused here. Go read it, or, if you don't want to bother, here: I changed Rose's name to Lianne, because I get a pang every time I type such an incredibly cliché name. It probably isn't too in-keeping with the time period, but let's all pretend it is, and everyone's happy. The same goes for lots of this, maybe even my whole plotline. If anybody spots a historically inaccurate plot device, please, please, PLEASE tell me, either by review, PM, or email (erina mail2athena. com). I just don't know too much about Paris history. **

**This is cliché. Please, humor me and ignore all my plot devices, as it gets considerably less cliché later on…at least I think so. **

**I have something to confess: Unlike everybody else here, I own everything I write, and am making buckets of money off every word.**

**I wish.**

**I don't know the copyright laws, but I'm pretty sure this belongs to whoever owns PotO—Gaston Leroux, ALW, Michael Crawford, whoever. And I'm not making any money. **

**That was a lot of notes for 2 reviewers. Ah well. 'Twill keep you entertained. **

**Let the games begin…or whatever they are…sappy musings works. **

**WW**

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A girl of medium height, thin to the point of emaciation, stood on the steps of a sweeping staircase. Straggly blonde hair fell to her waist; she combed it nervously with her fingers as she took first one step, then another, up the stairs. All around her the hustle and bustle of Paris at daybreak swept on, impervious to her awe. Carefully the girl made her way to the entrance to the Opera Garnier, her large green eyes flitting this way and that.

A large woman, armed with a mop and bucket, shoved past the girl and into the building. Quickly the girl slipped in behind her, dodging the long wooden handle. Timidly, she climbed yet another staircase, walked down several halls, turned around twice, and found a likely-looking door. She stepped forward and knocked several times.

Seconds later, the door banged open. The girl jumped backwards, eyes wide with fright.

"What?" An impressively tall woman with sharp features, and an equally sharp voice, stuck her head out.

"Please miss, would you let me be a ballerina? Go on stage, and such?"

The woman snorted rather alarmingly. "No."

"But you've taken girls before. Girls like me."

"Rarely. And when we do, we do it when they're so high." She held her hand in the region of her waist. "When they're too small to look after themselves. You could have a job anywhere—most families could do with an extra maid somewhere."

"Not me."

"Why's that?"

"He likes to…_borrow_…things. Little things, like a comb, or some shoes. Most people don't know about him, but they know wherever my sister is things go missing, and I've always been with her. Nobody wants a thieving maid."

"Why aren't you with your family?"

"They're gone."

"Gone?"

"Dead gone."

The woman looked at the girl for a moment, trying to decide if she was truthful. Satisfied that nobody with such a pitiable appearance would feel the need for deceit, she inquired, "What's your name?"

"Lianne."

"How old are you? Thirteen?"

"Fourteen, miss."

"Too old to be a ballerina. Do you sew?"

Lianne's face brightened for an instant. "I used to fix m'sister's mistress' dresses, but nobody ever gave me much thread and such, just enough to cover a stain or stitch a rip."

"Come here." The woman turned sharply, leading Lianne through a rat's nest of narrow hallways. Some minutes later, they were in a large, brightly colored room. Nearly every flat surface was covered with vivid cloth, wiry wigs, and half-finished dresses. The woman swept over to a table covered with scraps, selected two samples of slick fabric, some thread, and a needle and handed them to Lianne. "Sew these together."

Lianne took the supplies and began to sew, her head bent over the project. Several tedious minutes later, she bit the thread off, returned the needle to its fellows, and held up the scraps. The woman took them, tried to pull them apart, failed, and dropped them. "You stay here. I'm going to go tell our dressmakers they've got a new helper. But before you get convinced of my charitable nature and all, bear in mind you're in for a rough time in here. The shrews that work here haven't any use for a weakling, and they'll push you to the limit. Everyone here works from dawn to midnight, if not longer, trying to turn glittery sacks into wearable costumes. If you can't take that, say so now, and save yourself a lot of heartache. I'm doing you no favor."

"I'll try it, miss. Anything's better than what I'll get if I can't find work somewhere."

"You can't say I didn't warn you." The woman swept away, leaving Lianne surrounded by heaps of cloth, with absolutely no idea where she was to go from there.

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**. . . and at this point you're supposed to leave me piles of reviews…that's how it works, isn't it?**

**If you are overly fond of my writing, you could go read Angel of Music (profile), and leave me lots of reviews to digest over there too. I warn you it's sappy. **

**Chapter Two ought to be up in a week or so. **

**WW**


	3. The Second Nameless Chapter

**It's good to see me, isn't it? **

**…**

**Maybe not. But, after much difficulty with wireless networks, I have posted _another _chapter! 'Tis a short one, but a much better one than the last one I foisted upon you. At least the middle bit is. I was going to write another half to it, but that'll have to wait, because I'm stuck in this hellhole called Dallas and unable to write much. But I was going to leave a short author note…**

Lianne stood in the middle of a long, narrow hallway, her thin brows folded into a slight frown. She looked around; the rickety stairs leading down into the bowels of this place and the dark corridors sprouting off of her own were harsh, forbidding. Resignedly, she climbed the stairs, searching for another person who could help her out of this labyrinth. For the past hour or so she had wandered the expansive building, hoping to find a way back out. So far she had met only a few people, and they had ignored her completely. Now she was thoroughly lost, and quite sure she had been going in circles for some time.

Nobody waited for her at the bottom of the flimsy stairwell. Without much enthusiasm, Lianne began to climb some more. Something squeaked beside her. Lianne swore softly—nobody here but the rats. She was used to rats; one expected some vermin while living unsheltered in the slums of Paris. There had been a few rodents she had almost liked, but to have a rat instead of a human for company was simply depressing. As if to add to her discomfort, a spider dropped onto her arm from above, causing Lianne to shriek in surprise.

From within the shadows came a laughing female voice, startlingly nearby. "You're new, aren't you? New and lost."

Lianne twitched away from the voice. "An' who're you, a ghost, I'll warrant, come to play tricks on lost ones like me?"

Quiet laughter. "No, I'm no ghost. I'm not lost, either. I wouldn't come down here if I could lose my way. Nobody ever comes down here. It'd be decades before they found my body. Best go."

"How'm I t'do that? I've never been here, not since today."

A lantern flared in the darkness, illuminating the features of a girl a few years older than Lianne, dressed in a man's pants and loose shirt. Lianne blinked at the sudden light, spots dancing on her vision. Seconds later the lantern was bobbing away into the darkness, up stairs Lianne hadn't known existed. Quietly she followed the moving light, catching momentary glimpses of disintegrating railings and steps bedecked with cobwebs. The girl halted midway up the stairs and turned, waiting for Lianne. "You wouldn't know about this place. We're above a graveyard—there're hundreds of bodies down there. Deep, deep down, farther than I've ever gone. Farther than anybody has. Prudent people stay where they can see the light. If they can't, they may never leave the darkness." She covered the lantern for a moment. When she uncovered it, her eyes glittered. "But I'm not prudent. _I _think it's intriguing, all the stories. Of course there are ghosts—but some say there is one, the king of them all. _He's _the one I want to see, most of all. They say he stays at the bottom of this hellhole, to stay with his body. Nobody's ever gone that far. I'm going to." The girl changed her stance suddenly, breaking the spell of her words. "You, however, are going to go home. Just go up—and mind the rotted steps. You'll find someone soon enough."

"Haven't got a 'ome."

The girl was unperturbed. "Then you'll go to the dormitories with me. You're going to hate it. I think the beds are more rat than straw."

"How am I t'get there?

She sighed. "It's late. I'll take you there. Come."

Lianne didn't move. "Who're you?"

"Giry, it's what everyone calls me. Come, why don't you?"

"Why are you here?"

"Mother didn't much like caring for her children. She's dumped us all over France, with innkeepers, orphanages, churches—everywhere. She dropped me here when I was eight. Luckily I was pretty enough to be a ballerina. Otherwise I'd be washing the stage. Are you going to come, or shall I leave you here with the ghosts?"

"I'll come."

The bobbing light faded away into the darkness, Lianne following close behind.

**Review. Now. I don't care if it's a flame, or a nice review, or a ten-second generic statement. Just _review_. Flamers will _not _be blocked. (hint, hint)  
**


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